I didn’t even know if that cabin was still there anymore, much less if anyone ever used it.
This cabin was my link to John. This painting, it was how I wanted to remember him. My fingers danced along the two boys playing in the shadow of the cabin as my heart clenched with sadness. Sadness and anger and despair and fury. If she thought this was somehow going to smooth things over, she was sorely mistaken, but something inside of me was happy I now had this painting.
I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it. I pushed it off to the side as my mind finally began to slow down, the alcohol in my system dulling my senses. I went back to the couch and flopped down, pulling a blanket over me as I kicked off my shoes. I didn’t know if I should keep it, hang it in the office, or try giving it to my parents.
I wasn’t sure why I was still trying to smooth things over with my parents anyway. They were lying, pompous assholes, but at least they were forthcoming about it. You always knew what you were getting yourself into with them. They were unapologetically dickish.
But Hailey had been a surprise.
She had been a manipulative liar underneath all those layers of freedom and spirit.
I felt my stomach rolling with sickness as I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.
But instead of seeing her body tonight, I saw John and me at the cabin, running around outside and chasing lightning bugs as we tried to catch them in our hole-punched jars.
I didn’t wake up with an erection, but I did wake up with tears in my eyes and glass glistening on the floor, mocking me as if my entire life was a joke.
Chapter 2
Hailey
“I just don’t know what to do, Anna. I’ve tried everything I can.”
“Hailey, I know how much you’re hurting, but you did hold a great deal back from him. He has every right to be upset with you.”
“But it’s been a month now since that episode. The gallery’s open. I wanted him to be there for its opening. He should’ve been there,” I said.
“I know, sweetheart. I can hear in your voice how much you still love him. But he needs time. You held back the fact that you knew his brother, that you had his paintings, and that you were there when he died. That’s a very serious pill to swallow.”
“You hate me for it, too, don’t you?” I asked.
“No. I was shocked when you told me. Really shocked. And I can understand his anger. You just have to let him cool down. You need to try to understand that this might be it. Just from
interacting with him the little I did back in July, he seems to hold it really close to his heart. You’ve got to give him time.”
“I went and gave him that painting,” I said.
“You went to his house?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve done it a few times. In the morning, trying to catch him before work, but he never answered. He didn’t answer tonight, either.”
“What did you do with the painting?” she asked.
“I left it on his doorstep. I figured if he wasn’t home, he’d have to come home eventually, and he’ll see it.”
“Do you think he’ll like it?”
“I can’t think of any other person who would appreciate it the way he would, not even me,” I said. “Anna, I tried everything. Calling. Leaving voicemails apologizing. Sending text messages. I stopped trying to apologize and just started sending him photos of my day, things I wanted him to see. I was going to send him photos of the opening of the gallery, but he blocked my number.”
“I remember you telling me,” she said.
“My heart aches.”
“Then think about how he feels. He poured himself out to you, and you kept your secrets close.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.
“It’s supposed to help you see his point of view. He’s hurting, too. A great deal.”